


“If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”

by thescienceofsherlolly



Series: Sherlollicious [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Molly knows what she wants, Secret Relationship, Worried Sherlock, hints of the sexy sexness, something happens to the wallpaper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 10:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6075315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescienceofsherlolly/pseuds/thescienceofsherlolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs. Hudson's wallpaper is damaged and Sherlock races to heed its warning</p>
            </blockquote>





	“If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sherlockian_87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlockian_87/gifts).



> for my dear friend Sherlockian_87 who requested #34 from the list of drabble prompts over on tumblr

The wallpaper was always the first thing Sherlock noticed after finishing a tedious case; it was a calming influence even if he did tend to shoot bullets into it now and again - he often found himself smiling at the almost odd pattern, the yellow smiley face always grinning back. Guests, clients and a certain former flatmate had ignored the design, passing it off as a simple decoration; Sherlock, though, always observed and saw beyond the view.

The same could be said about his lover, Molly Hooper.

At first sight, she was a simple pathologist, always happy to bring him a coffee, never straying far from her comfortable morgue. It was only recently he realised she was much more: becoming the woman who saved him, kept his head in the right place (figuratively and literally), assisting with cases, providing her shoulder and stealing his long-forgotten heart. Sherlock recalled the moment the plane landed, her face had been in his mind. That was almost three months ago and their relationship was a well-kept secret. Or so he’d thought.

Sherlock stepped into the flat, exhaling deeply as he removed his heavy coat – he didn’t even have the pleasure of Molly’s company to welcome him home, for she was working late; he didn’t even pretend wasn’t upset at this. He glanced over his wallpaper, the Molly away from Molly (she’d surely hit him if she ever found out); he didn’t even register his coat slipping from his fingers as he noticed the tear in the paper straight through the laughing smiley. He rapidly approached the sofa, tripping over his own feet in his haste – the strand hadn’t been completely torn away and hung limply in front of him. Panic set in as he lifted the wallpaper, noticing writing stretching across the side torn away: ARE YOU PREPARED TO BURN? Sherlock didn’t even stop to grab his coat as he ran from the flat.

Cabs would take too long. Greg had been to the pub after work. John was up with Sharlotte. No, he’d have to run. As he hurtled through the streets with a pounding heart, he pondered how Moriarty’s remaining web had found out about Molly. They’d been careful – as far as the outside world knew, she visited Baker Street with various specimen jars and case files and he went to hers to crash on her sofa/bed. Their liaisons at Bart’s had been brief and private – only those within earshot would have known about them.

He’d arrived at Molly’s in no time, lungs burning from exertion and heart thumping in nervous anticipation; he raced upstairs and hammered loudly on her door. The logical part of his brain attempted to inform him that it was past midnight and she’d probably just crawled into bed after her shift. Logic was ignored as Sherlock began kicking hard at the space below her lock, noise and decorum be damned – the secret would definitely be out there if he was arrested for breaking into his girlfriend’s flat. Nevertheless, he burst into the dark flat and began rapidly searching around for the supposed intruder.

“Sherlock? What the hell are you doing?”

Molly, _his wonderfully safe Molly_ , shuffled out of her bedroom in her fluffy pink dressing gown, clutching a cricket bat and wearing an annoyed expression; she dropped the bat onto the sofa and rubbed her eyes, staring at him in confusion – well, he must have looked a sight with his wild hair, red cheeks and wide eyes. Sherlock said nothing as he approached her and gathered her in his arms, holding her close to him. Molly frowned but didn’t attempt to push him away, instead stroking his back reassuringly.

“You want to talk about it?” He shook his head, finally lifting his head from her shoulder and examining her; she was gorgeous with her own mussed hair and sleepy eyes. Molly couldn’t help but bite her rosy lips as her boyfriend’s eyes fell to them, “if you keep looking at me like that, we’re not going to make it to a bed.”

“Oh, Molly,” Sherlock chuckled, lifting her up onto his waist and pushing her back against the wall in one fluid movement; his forehead met hers and he grinned wolfishly, “would that be such a bad thing?”

Later he’d concentrate on finding the Moriarty fake and make them pay but, for now, Sherlock revelled in how it felt to just hold Molly and feel her glorious sighs against his neck as they moved together as one.


End file.
